Page 35 of Death’s Gentle Hand

What Burns, Becomes

Cael

T he wind on the rooftop howled like cosmic protest, but Cael no longer heard the Threads' objections. The silver pathways that had once defined his existence felt as distant as forgotten dreams, their calls growing fainter with each moment he spent anchored to this reality by Damian’s presence.

One by one, those connections had been unraveling ever since he chose to stay.

Now, standing in the moonlight with Damian’s face cupped gently between his hands, Cael felt the final threads of his cosmic nature snap at last. Each severed bond sent ripples through his changed consciousness, but instead of loss, he felt liberation—freedom from duty that had never been choice, from purpose that had never been personal, from existence that had never truly been living.

“I'm afraid,” he whispered against Damian's mouth, the words torn from his essence like pieces of starlight. “What if I lose myself completely? What if I become human and discover I'm not worth your love without cosmic power?”

Damian's response was immediate and fierce, his hands coming up to frame Cael's face with the gentle reverence of someone touching sacred ground. “Then let me find you again. Let me show you who you are when you're not afraid.”

Here was someone offering to help him discover identity rather than imposing it, to explore possibility rather than accepting limitation. In Damian's sightless eyes, Cael saw himself reflected not as cosmic force or inevitable ending, but as someone worth choosing.

“You don't understand,” Cael said, his voice breaking with the weight of confession. “I've never been anything except what I was created to be. I don't know who I am underneath all that programming. What if there's nothing there? What if I'm just emptiness pretending to be substantial?”

“There's something there,” Damian replied with absolute conviction. “I've felt it every time you chose to stay instead of reap. Every time you showed mercy instead of impartiality. Every time you cared more about my wellbeing than cosmic law.”

Cael's breath caught at the certainty in Damian's voice, at the way he spoke of caring as if it were solid, measurable, real rather than theoretical. “You think love can create substance where none existed before?”

“I think love reveals what was always there but buried too deep to reach.” Damian's thumb traced the sharp line of Cael's cheekbone, mapping features that were becoming more human with each touch. “I think you've been someone worth loving for longer than you realize.”

When Damian kissed him—hard, desperate, years of restraint unraveling all at once—Cael’s first thought was that this couldn’t be real.

That he, a being once carved from starlight and bound to endings, couldn’t possibly be allowed to taste desire this way.

And yet, his mouth moved against Damian’s like it had always belonged there, like he had always been meant to learn what it was to ache for something this much.

His hands shook as they framed Damian’s face, cosmic power flickering uncontrolled between his fingers like lightning seeking earth.

Sparks curled off his skin, golden-white and wild.

It should have seared Damian, reduced him to ash in the space between heartbeats.

But Damian, like always, did the impossible—absorbing what should have burned, turning it into warmth that spread through both of them like shared breath.

Cael pulled back just enough to see him—his beautiful, fearless healer, blind eyes open and trusting—and it undid something ancient in him.

Their lips met again, clumsy and gasping.

They stumbled back into the rooftop's low wall, the cold stone biting into Cael’s hips as their bodies pressed close.

This wasn’t divine or polished. It wasn’t ceremonial.

It was desperate, messy, beautifully human.

And it made Cael’s heart race with emotions he had no names for.

“Gods,” Damian gasped against his lips. Salt clung to his skin—tears maybe, or sweat, or something older. “I've wanted this for so long, I forgot what wanting even felt like.”

The words pierced something deep in Cael, sent heat flooding to the unfamiliar heaviness between his thighs. His breath hitched as desire settled in him like fire pooling low in his belly. “Show me,” he whispered, voice raw and thick with the weight of transformation. “Please… show me.”

They left the rooftop together, bare feet brushing the cold tiles of the clinic, hands that refused to separate even for a moment.

Each step felt reverent, each glance—a silent promise.

The clinic had shifted in the night; what was once a place of healing had become a temple of defiance.

Candles flickered like spirits bearing witness.

Shadows danced, not ominous, but celebratory.

In Damian’s small sleeping alcove, Cael hesitated only once.

“Are you sure?” he asked, the words nearly catching in his throat. “Once we do this, there’s no going back. I’ll be bound to mortality completely. To you completely.”

Damian didn’t flinch. He stepped forward until their foreheads touched. “I've been sure since the first night you said my name.”

“Love,” Cael said softly. “Is that what this is?”

“What else could it be?” Damian asked, lifting his face until their mouths nearly met. “This need to exist in the same space… to rewrite the rules of the universe just to be touched by you?”

Cael trembled. “I love you. I love your reckless kindness. I love the way you made Death want to live.”

“I love you too,” Damian whispered. “Enough to let you fall for me. Enough to catch you when you do.”

They undressed each other slowly, like ceremony. Cael’s fingers mapped the topography of Damian’s chest—scars that told stories of sacrifice, skin warm and imperfect, alive. “You’re beautiful,” Cael said, reverence thick in every syllable. “You’re like scripture written in flesh.”

“And you,” Damian said, hands tracing the curve of Cael’s waist, the sharp lines of his hips. “You’re becoming. Not just mortal. Becoming mine.”

Cael’s cock was hard now, achingly so, pulsing with a need he didn’t know how to articulate. It twitched when Damian’s thumb brushed down his chest, circled a nipple, then drifted lower. Every nerve ending sparked alive. He gasped.

“It’s… a lot,” Cael murmured. “Too much. But I don’t want it to stop.”

“It won’t,” Damian promised. “Not unless you ask me to.”

Cael’s breath stuttered when Damian leaned down, his mouth soft against his neck, then his collarbone, and lower still.

Cael had never imagined pleasure as anything more than theory, a side effect of biology.

But this—this was sacred. His cock throbbed as Damian kissed the inside of his thigh, the heat of his breath ghosting so close to where Cael now ached.

When Damian licked a slow, wet line up the length of his cock, Cael nearly collapsed. “Gods—Damian…”

Damian smiled against his skin, the sound of Cael’s voice raw and wrecked igniting something in him. “Tell me what it feels like,” he said.

Cael barely managed, hips trembling as Damian took him in his mouth. “It’s… stars. I feel like I’m collapsing inward. Like I’m made of flame and light and skin that can’t hold either.”

Damian’s mouth was gentle but thorough, his blind hands moving with a healer’s knowledge and a lover’s care. He pulled Cael apart, piece by piece, until the former reaper sobbed out his release, body bucking, tears sliding down his cheeks without him even noticing.

Damian kissed him then—deep and slow and anchoring—and led him to the small bed. He reached for a carved wooden jar on the bedside table, fingers finding it by muscle memory. The scent of warm herbs and citrus rose as he opened it—salve, slick and golden, glistening on his fingers.

“I made this for you,” he murmured. “Didn’t know when you’d need it. But I knew you would.”

Cael swallowed, heat and vulnerability clashing beneath his skin. He lay back, knees bent, legs open in offering he barely understood but wanted with every fiber of his forming soul. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confessed.

“You’re perfect,” Damian whispered. “Just breathe. I’ll take care of you.”

The first touch of Damian’s fingers at his hole made Cael flinch—not from pain, but from startling sensitivity.

Damian took his time, circling gently, easing one finger inside with infinite patience.

The salve made everything glide, warm and tingling, and Cael’s breath hitched again as he tried to process sensation he’d never thought he’d feel.

More fingers followed. Damian murmured praise against his thigh, told him how good he was doing, how beautiful he looked like this—open, trusting, shining with newfound need.

Cael moaned, the stretch becoming something more, something addicting.

He couldn’t believe his body could feel so empty and full at once.

When Damian finally moved over him, aligning their bodies, his cock hard and slick with salve, Cael reached up and cupped his face.

“Please,” he said. “I want to know what it means to be yours.”

Damian pushed in slowly, inch by inch, and Cael’s world tilted.

It wasn’t pain—it was intensity. The sensation of being filled, being claimed, being held together from the inside out.

He cried out, hand gripping Damian’s shoulder, then pressed their foreheads together so close they could taste each other's breath.

“I see stars,” Cael gasped. “I see everything. Even with my eyes closed.”

Damian chuckled softly, a tremble in his voice. “Then let’s make a universe here. Just for us.”